Collateral Gossip
William stared at Skylar for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then said with calm finality, “You’re coming with me.”
Skylar blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I’m going home. And you’re coming with me,” he said, already reaching for his coat, like the decision was made and she didn’t get a vote.
She narrowed her eyes. “Wait—are you saying you want me to move in with you?”
He scoffed, lips curling in amusement. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The move-in deposit was paid ages ago, sweetheart. Now it’s time for you to fulfill your part of the deal.”
Skylar rolled her eyes. “Send me the damn address then. I’ll show up tonight.”
“No shot.” His tone was clipped. “I’m too damn exhausted to let you go off on your own again. And I sure as hell don’t have the energy to spend another night nursing your hangover. You’re coming with me. Now.”
She clenched her fists at her sides. “Do I look like a freaking drunk to you? Like someone who gets wasted and blacks out every day?”
He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant. “Who knows? You’ve got more quirks than a rom-com heroine on steroids.”
His words hit a nerve. Singing in the shower, reading while eating, dancing around the kitchen like no one’s watching—God, had she really let him see that much of her? And worse, had she really fallen this hard for a man who wielded arrogance like a weapon?
Skylar ground her jaw, breathing in through her nose. Arguing with this stubborn ass is like trying to nail jelly to the wall, she thought bitterly.
“But I have to grab my stuff from my place,” she reasoned, trying to stall. “I can’t exactly move in empty-handed.”
“I’ll send someone to get it. Don’t test my patience,” William said, tone brooking no argument. He grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the door. “Now move your pretty little butt.”
“William! Have you completely lost your mind?” Skylar hissed, trying to wriggle free. “You wanna parade our relationship through the entire damn office?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck,” he snapped over his shoulder, not slowing down for a second. “Let ‘em talk.”
And talk they did.
Whispers sliced through the office air like knives. Bitter stares, venomous smirks. Jealous souls twisted her name, calling her a gold-digger, a tramp, a seductress who clawed her way up the corporate ladder by bedding the handsome, rich CEO.
“She probably got on her knees for that promotion.”
“Our new CEO deserves better.”
“She’s just a flavor of the month.”
"She must be really good in bed. No way she got there with talent alone," muttered another, flipping her hair while shooting daggers in Skylar’s direction.
“God, such a shameless gold-digger. First she bats her lashes, then ends up in his bed, and now she’s moving into his house? Bold moves,” came a sneer from the corner near the printer.
“Typical. Seduce the boss, skip the struggle,” a guy murmured, adjusting his tie, clearly envious he wasn’t the one being dragged off by someone like William.
And while they tore Skylar down, they put William on a pedestal made of marble and hypocrisy.
“I mean, can you blame him? He’s a total catch—hot, rich, powerful.”
“He could have anyone. He’s just being generous, probably felt sorry for her.”
“Honestly, William’s too classy for a girl like her. She’s loud, too out there—look at her dancing in the lunchroom that one time like she’s in a music video.”
"I bet she planned it. Worked her way up his interest. First the flirting, then those late-night project meetings... we all saw it coming."
Yet, amidst the sea of snarls and toxic envy, a few stood apart.
A young intern whispered to her friend, “I think they look kinda good together. Did you see the way he looked at her? That wasn’t just lust.”
Another, older employee smiled faintly. “People will always talk. But that man walked through fire for her during that scandal last month. There’s more to this than anyone here understands.”
But their voices were drowned by the cruel chorus of cynicism and jealousy.
Skylar felt the weight of every stare—judgmental, jealous, curious. It felt strange, sure, but not unfamiliar. She’d dealt with worse. Public opinion had never shaken her; she'd built armor from it long ago. She had enough on her plate—work, life, silent battles no one saw. Let them whisper. Let them assume.
William dragged Skylar to the car like a man on a mission, shoved the passenger door open, and all but tossed her into the seat. She barely had time to settle before he slammed his own door shut, fired up the engine, and drove off like the road had wronged him.
The silence in the car was thick—uncomfortable and loud in its own way.
Skylar stared out the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just let the awkward silence blanket them.
That was until the car came to a stop outside a supermarket.
Her brow arched. “Did you move in here or something?” she drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“We're buying groceries,” William replied flatly, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“For what? It’s not like we’re some cheesy, lovey-dovey couple playing house.”
“Grandma’s coming over for dinner.”
“Oh…” she muttered, leaning back in her seat with a huff, arms still folded like a sulking teenager.
William shot her a hard look. Her laid-back attitude was clearly pressing all his buttons. When she didn’t move, he narrowed his eyes. She felt his stare drilling into her and finally looked his way.
“What?” she snapped, arching a brow.
“You’re cooking something special for her,” he said sharply, leaning over to unfasten her seatbelt too.
“I don’t know how to cook.” she said with a smirk, staying planted in her seat.
“Then maybe you should sue that academy who wasted your many months and gave you that shiny ‘Culinary Arts’ certificate,” he shot back dryly.
The comment hit like a slap. Skylar froze for a second. Of course, she thought bitterly. He knows everything.
But she bounced back quickly. “Even if I am a cooking queen, cooking for your grandma? Not in the damn contract.”
William didn’t flinch. Instead, he whipped out his phone and tapped the screen. A buzz followed. Her phone lit up—$50,000 deposited.
She blinked once, expression unreadable, then tossed her phone aside. “You think that’s enough for a Michelin-star level meal for Madam Scott? You’re way too stingy for a billionaire.”
Without a word, William transferred another $50,000. “Now get down. Fast.”
“For what? I got paid to cook, not to grocery shop. You go in, I’ll go home and get started. Don’t disturb my peace.”
William’s patience snapped. “What the hell do I even buy?”
“Mr. Scott,” she said with mock sweetness, “do I need to tattoo it on your forehead? Extra demands. Extra pay.”
Grinding his teeth, William sent another $50,000. Then stormed out, marched around, yanked open her door, and dragged her out—just as she was grinning at her screen.
With a smug smile, she pulled the trolley and got to work. She picked every ingredient with precision, carefully choosing things Grandma loved—and William absolutely loathed. She was beaming, enjoying every second of her little revenge.
But then her smile dropped.
Her stomach twisted. Her spine stiffened.
A familiar voice. A face she’d rather forget.
There she was—her—strutting over in a tiny black dress, all legs and lipstick. Her eyes locked on William, and then came that fake, sugary-sweet smile.
Before Skylar could blink, the girl practically launched herself and wrapped William in a tight hug like they were long-lost lovers.
Skylar’s jaw clenched, fists curling around the trolley handle.
Of all the rotten luck…